Childhood's End
by Lil black dog
Summary: An answer to the Twelve Trials of Triskelion ficlet challenge at Ad Astra. These are small milestones from the life of Leonard McCoy, some incredibly sad, others uplifting, that helped to shape the man he became, from his career choice to his gruff, curmudgeonly exterior. Edit 6/20/13: I've added a new chapter, called 'Salvation,' which is now chapter six.
1. Forrest

A/N: This piece is in response to a challenge at Ad Astra. Write a ficlet a day, each 100-500 words, for a week. I elected to find seven pivotal moments in the life of young Leonard McCoy.

A full explanation for the events depicted in this chapter can be found in my story 'Aftermath.'

**Childhood's End**

**Forrest**

**Summer, 2235 old Earth calendar  
Atlanta, Georgia, USA**

He was numb all over; had been for the last week. He had wanted the tears to come, today of all days, but it was as if there were none left to fall. Like the day it happened. That day, he'd stood in the ankle-deep water, hands clenched into fists at his side, his ears filled with the bloodcurdling screams of his best friend's mother—a woman who had just lost everything. At the time, it was as if his brain couldn't process what his eyes had seen. Understanding, along with the tears, had come several days later, when he was alone, lying on his bed as he was now.

There had been no coffins at the service today; you couldn't bury that which hadn't been found.

It took several moments to register that someone was knocking at his door. A gentle voice was calling him.

"Lenny, are you okay?"

Silence.

"Can I come in?" A beat. "Please?"

"Is _he _with you?"

"No, I'm alone. Please let me in, sweetheart."

"It's not locked," he replied softly, resignedly.

Soft, rapid footfalls padded their way into his room. A weight settled on the bed beside him, the springs groaning slightly in protest. A petite hand brushed back the hair from his forehead. Soft lips planted a lingering kiss there, etched with sorrow. A perfumed cheek rested against his head. An arm found its way about his shoulders, drawing him close. He reached out; clung to the woman holding him, burying his head in her neck. "I'm so sorry," she whispered into his hair. "I know it hurts, but it will get better with each passing day, I promise."

"Why, Momma, why?" he managed to choke out.

"I don't know why, love. All I know is that you loved them, and miss them, and it's okay to feel that way."

"It's all Daddy's fault," he railed. "If he'da come with us like he promised, he coulda saved Forrest and Mister Tatum."

"Yes, your daddy's a doctor, and had they found them he might have been able to resuscitate them, but they didn't. It's not fair of you to blame him. Your daddy couldn't have helped even if he'd been there. No one could."

Leonard turned to face the wall, wriggling out of her grasp. Right now, that didn't matter to him. He had watched his best friend and that friend's father drown—something no eight-year-old should ever see. Someone had to be responsible. And since he was too afraid to put the blame on God, for now his daddy would have to do.


	2. Second Chances

A/N: Leonard McCoy, age thirteen.

**Second Chances**

**June, 2240, Old Earth Calendar**

He snuggled into the warmth of his sleeping bag, listening to the soft snores emanating from the other three occupants of the tent. He should be sleeping, too but that blissful release continued to elude him. In the years following Forrest and Mister Tatum's deaths, the emotional gulf between him and his father had widened, despite the senior McCoy promising to spend more time with his family and less time absorbed in his work—a goal which had proved unattainable.

Six months ago, David McCoy had been named chief of surgery at Atlanta General Hospital, and regardless of the longer hours that came along with that position, Leonard had felt a surge of pride at his father's accomplishment. It had taken several years, but the younger McCoy had gotten over his childish perception that somehow his father was responsible for the Tatums' deaths.

In the interim Leonard had come to view his father and grandfather—both men surgeons at the same hospital—with nothing short of awe and admiration. He'd come to accept that their absence from his life was due to the much loftier goal of serving humanity, of making a difference in the world. Just as they were exhibiting their unselfish desire to help others, surely Leonard could be magnanimous enough to forego time spent with them in favor of contributing to the greater good. In light of his changing views, he aspired to follow in their footsteps someday, with the caveat that he would find a way to balance the personal with the professional, so that occupational success would not come at the expense of the people he loved.

That's why this trip had seemed like the perfect solution; it would afford Leonard some much-needed one-on-one time with his father. For his thirteenth birthday present he had lobbied for this trip, believing it would be the spark that would rekindle their easy communication and overt affection of old.

When he had been younger, his father had often taken him and his two cousins—Richie and Jake—on weekend camping trips along the Chatahoochee river. Those had been magical times, the four of them swimming, fishing, hiking and talking long into the night, sprawled lazily around the flickering glow of a large campfire. Leonard had felt his father's love then, surrounding and enveloping him like a favorite, well-worn blanket.

A coyote howled in the distance, its voice solitary, pining, and Leonard felt the same emotions rise within him—where once he felt a special closeness to his father, now there was only disconnect, entropy, separation. _It must be my fault_, he reasoned, _something I've done. He must be disappointed in me. I know I made him miserable in the years after Forrest's death. I need to show him that I've grown into a man now and understand why he has to be away from mom and me so much. I'm not a little kid anymore. It's time I stopped acting like one._


	3. Crossroads

A/N: This is an expansion of events alluded to in my story 'The Road Less Traveled.'

**Crossroads**

**February, 2241, Old Earth Calendar**

The pain was nearly unbearable. This time, the loss was most assuredly his dad's fault. Other members of the staff had tried, but Leonard was certain that his father could have saved the patriarch of their family, if only David McCoy had taken the opportunity to do so.

He still couldn't wrap his head around it. How could his grandfather have died _while working at the hospital?_ He knew peripherally that cerebral aneurisms were bad, and patients often didn't survive, but his grandfather had collapsed while doing rounds for Christ's sake, surrounded by a team of other doctors. Were they all incompetent? With all the technology right there at their fingertips, couldn't they have done _something_? Gotten him on a vent until the damage could be repaired; instantly drained the expanding pocket of blood due to the ruptured artery in the brain, therefore minimizing tissue loss?

His father had tried to help him understand: The burst blood vessel had caused immediate and significant pressure on and stricture to the surrounding brain stem. While medicine had made leaps and bounds over the last century, injuries to the brain had yet to be conquered completely. Especially those involving the brain stem—that portion responsible for autonomic functions, like breathing, the beating of the heart, and circulation. If this portion of the brain was damaged, restoration of function was beyond conventional techniques. There were still some things modern medicine just couldn't fix, his dad had explained. His grandfather had been doomed the moment the wall of the vessel gave out.

Leonard had since done some research on his own. If they'd been able to seal off the artery and drain the hematoma before it began pressing on the brain stem there might have been a chance. The damage could have been mitigated to an extent. That's where his dad came in. David McCoy was the top surgeon at Atlanta General, but he'd been in the middle of another procedure, operating on a stranger as his own father lay dying. That patient had survived, while the elder McCoy had not.

Is that what it meant to be a doctor: To save others at the expense of those dear to you? In the last year or so Leonard had dreamed of continuing the family legacy. Now he was starting to think he didn't want any part of it. If it would hurt like this every time he lost someone, be they family, friend or complete stranger, he didn't think he could survive it on a daily basis. He didn't think he could face the choice his father had been confronted with—continue helping a stranger or drop everything to save someone you love. Leonard still wasn't sure the choice had been the correct one.

Despite his desire to serve Humanity as the men in his life had done, at this point, he just didn't feel that a career in medicine was in the cards for him. The pain would surely be his undoing.


	4. Turning Point

A/N: This is a follow-on to the events in my story 'The Road Less Traveled.'

**Turning Point**

**Late spring, 2245 Old Earth Calendar**

Behind his closed eyes he saw the bloody stump reach for him again. "Lenny, thank God. You come from a family of doctors. You'll know what to do. Please help me; I don't wanna die here." But Jackson had died, despite his best efforts. He had put a tourniquet around the mangled arm, stemming the flow of blood from a torrent to a trickle, but he hadn't known about the internal injuries, or the massive internal blood loss resulting from them. They had ultimately taken Jackson's life before rescue workers arrived on the scene. Despite assurances that there was nothing he could have done, the man's death continued to haunt the boy.

_My fault._

The eighteen-year-old opened his eyes, staring up into the dark void of the heavens, the cool night breeze ruffling his hair. He and his mother had moved back to the McCoy homestead several years ago, foregoing the apartment they had shared with his father in the suburbs of Atlanta for the large, Victorian house situated on several acres in the rural countryside. His father remained in the city, making the forty-five minute trek by flitter to the family home on his days off. Leonard was sitting on the back porch, bare feet propped up on the wooden railing, sipping at a secret stash of moonshine. He knew his mother wouldn't approve, but it was late; she had long since gone to bed. As usual, his father was conspicuously absent, a non-player in his only child's daily life.

Jackson had died a week ago, the victim of a freak accident on a local farm. While Leonard had been able to visually assess and treat the injured limb, the crushed pelvis, which had led to the uncontrollable internal hemorrhaging—a result of a half-ton round hay bale rolling over the downed man—had escaped him.

The feelings of inadequacy and helplessness, interspersed with profound guilt, continued to hound him like a fox chasing a fleet-footed hare. It didn't matter that nothing could have saved Jackson. The point was beyond the severed limb, _he hadn't known what to do, or even what to look for._ Up till now he had ruled out medicine as a career, not wanting it to be the Albatross around his neck that destroyed the family life he so desperately wanted for his future wife and children. But something had shifted in him when Jackson died. He never wanted to be in a position again where he was at a loss to help someone in need.

His thoughts strayed to Jocelyn. They were in love, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, raise a passel of children with her, but first and foremost be _present _for his future family.

He would not fall into the same trap that had swallowed his father and grandfather. He would find the balance of career and family that had eluded them, of that he was confident.


	5. Possibilities

A/N: Leonard McCoy, age twenty-two.

**Possibilities**

**Summer 2249, Old Earth Calendar**

She looked positively stunning. He felt his throat close, the pressure build behind his eyes as he gazed down the aisle at her. He couldn't believe his good fortune. During the past four years he had dreamt of this day, prayed for this day, but somehow had never imagined it would actually come to pass.

The sky outside was an angry gray, the clouds swollen and heavy with moisture, almost seeming to brush the tops of the trees. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Folklore said rain on your wedding day was a bad omen, but he didn't put any stock in superstition. The moment Jocelyn walked into the room, the sun had come out for him. Simultaneously, a blinding flash of light split the heavens as an earsplitting crack shook the rafters of the three-hundred-year-old structure, drowning out the jubilant strains of the wedding march. But while many of the one hundred guests in the small Baptist church flinched and looked skyward, he only had eyes for her.

A delicate, translucent veil cascaded over her shoulders, hiding the purity of her features, but it couldn't contain the radiant smile that broke over her face as their eyes met. In that instant his sun truly dawned in all its resplendent glory.

He had completed his undergraduate degree, finishing near the top of his class, and was scheduled to start his first semester of medical school in the fall. That portion of his life had fallen into place, and the most important part was about to solidify as well. She was his everything; his future would not be complete without both of these halves merging seamlessly into one.

"Who gives this woman to be wed in Holy matrimony?" the pastor's voice boomed.

"I do," Joss' father answered, placing his daughter's hand into Leonard's. She leaned toward him slightly, her fingers squeezing his. "I love you, Lenny, and this is the happiest day of my life," she whispered, the words pitched for his ears alone.

He returned the pressure, gazing into those amazing green eyes. "Me too, Joss, me, too."


	6. Salvation

A/N: This is a late addition to this piece, so longer than 500 words, inspired by the free write 'Sweetness.' Not sure if this qualifies; more like bittersweet, but it represents the moment McCoy began the healing process with regard to Forrest and Mr. Tatum, thanks to Joss and her love for him.

**Salvation**

**Summer, 2249, Old Earth Calendar**

It was very late. The cool, sultry breeze ruffled his hair. The rhythmic crashing of waves against the sandy shore was interspersed with the chirping and buzzing of nocturnal insects, the sounds occasionally eclipsed by the intermittent rustle of tall, dune grasses.

It was their second night as husband and wife. He glanced down at the woman curled up beside him on the oversized lounge chair, her features relaxed in the quietude of sleep, head resting against his shoulder. Without conscious thought he instinctively pressed her closer to him, certain he would never love her more than he did at this moment.

Last night had been a blur, a frenzied exercise couched in acrobatic desperation, on both their parts; a desire for each to express the depths of their feelings for the other both physically and spiritually, intent on consummating their love for one another to the exclusion of all else. That had helped him to forget where he was, plunged him into blissful oblivion, but as morning dawned over the waters of the Atlantic the trepidation, the dread and all-consuming feelings of loss and emptiness had returned with a vengeance. Careful not to disturb her, he slipped out from under the covers, closing the bedroom door noiselessly behind him.

Spending their honeymoon in a bungalow on a private Georgian beach had been her idea. She knew of his history; of the terrible loss he had suffered at the hands of an angry, unforgiving sea in his youth. Since that time, he had never been able to bring himself to set foot on a seemingly innocuous stretch of coastline, no matter the location. The memories were just too painful. Since that fateful day, the beach had become sinister; something to be feared, and respected, the pristine beauty masking its ominous, raw power. But she had reassured him; convinced him that the only way to banish the demons once and for all was to face them head on. Insisted it's what Forrest and Mister Tatum would have wanted.

Since they first met he'd never been able to deny her anything and had agreed for her sake, against his better judgment. She'd found him sitting on the back porch, the rays of the rising sun shimmering off the calm, blue water, head in his hands, shivering. Somehow she had known it wasn't due to the brisk morning air.

She'd instantly dropped to her knees before him, took trembling hands into her own. "Lenny, look at me," she'd pleaded, her voice soft, husky with concern. He met the apprehensive green eyes, his own awash with tears which stubbornly refused to fall. "Oh baby, I know it hurts," she crooned tenderly, gathering his head to her chest, "but the pain will never go away until you make peace with the past."

"I don't know how," he'd confessed in a voice thick with emotion, wrapping his arms around her waist and burrowing his head into the security of her fierce embrace.

"Well, I do," she'd answered, rising to her feet, tugging him along as well. Hand in hand they'd made their way down the steps and onto the cool, shifting sand, as yet untouched by the radiant heat of the sun. She led him to the water's edge, the placid surf lapping at their bare feet; sliding past their ankles as it strove to return to the depths from whence it came.

The next thing he knew he was sitting in the centimeters-deep water sobbing uncontrollably, the salt of his tears mingling with the intermittent spray generated by the transitory waves. He clung to her, pouring out incoherent expressions of grief, guilt and unimaginable sorrow, unaware of the passage of time, tethered to reality by her touch alone. She was rocking him, her arms wrapped tightly around him, murmuring softly, the words unintelligible at first, but the cadence soothing, comforting, healing. Finally, meaning began to filter through:

"It wasn't your fault, Lenny, and no one blames you, least of all them. Can you imagine how much it would hurt them to see you suffer so? They wouldn't want that for you. They'd want you to remember the good times, the laughter and the fun you had together. To honor them by focusing on the positive aspects of their lives, and the joy they brought to you, no matter how briefly, not spend your time wallowing in this one split second of tragedy. That's what I feel while sitting here. I feel their love for you surrounding us. Can't you feel it, too?"

He'd lifted his head at that, glancing first at her, then shifting his gaze to study that indistinct line where blue water met blue sky, convinced that theirs was not the only love carrying him through this moment. Her hand traced lazy circles on his back as they sat in silence, shoulder to shoulder, the wind drying his tears.

After a time a sense of equanimity had settled over him and he climbed to his feet, her hand still clutched tightly in his. She'd risen as well, searching his face.

"Are you all right?" she'd asked, eyes clouded with uncertainty.

"No," he answered evenly, honestly, favoring her with a wan smile. He drew her to him, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "But you were right—I needed this. And I will be."


	7. The Best of Times

A/N: Summer, 2250. The McCoy family increases by one.

**The Best of Times**

**Summer 2250, Old Earth Calendar**

She was perfect. He was still amazed that he had had a part in creating this most remarkable of beings. He and Joss had planned to have children, quite a few, in fact, but they were young, and would have plenty of time to start a family once he graduated from medical school. But Joanna had had other ideas, arriving shortly before the start of his second year, rendering the carefully laid plans of her parents moot. Unbeknownst to him now, it would mark the pattern of her personality in later years. Especially as a child her actions would tend to be governed by what suited her at the moment, the wishes and objectives of others in her life notwithstanding.

This aspect of her unique disposition seemed to have begun with her birth. Joss had been in labor for thirty-six hours; not a difficult or dangerous one, it just seemed like Joanna had decided she'd be born when she was good and ready. Half an hour ago she had come into this world red-faced and screaming, announcing her arrival with gusto. Now she was nestled securely in his arms, swaddled from neck to toe, a small cap stretched over her tiny head. She was staring at him intently with the deep blue eyes inherent to most human newborns. It was as if she was looking to memorize his face; reading every event that had shaped his young life thus far in the lines and crevices that marked his features.

He returned the intense gaze, willing himself to lock this image of her, right at this moment, permanently into his brain. This was a major milestone in his life he didn't ever want to forget. He filed it next to the memories of Forrest, Mister Tatum, his grandfather, the first time he had ever laid eyes on Jocelyn, and his wedding day. He had already accomplished much in his young life, but she was by far the crowning achievement. He beamed at her; felt his lips twist into a stupid, silly grin as his vision blurred.

Suddenly she seemed bored with the whole situation. Her mouth formed into a small 'oh' as a huge yawn escaped from the tiny body. Heavy eyelids slipped down over the expressive eyes, her lips twitching in a lazy sucking motion as she drifted off to sleep.

He glanced over at Joss, asleep on the biobed after her exhausting ordeal as well, and it felt as if his heart would burst. The three of them were a family now, and he would do whatever it took to keep his girls safe, and happy.


	8. The Worst of Times

A/N: Leonard McCoy, one year after graduating from medical school.

**The Worst of Times**

**Spring 2254, Old Earth Calendar**

_My fault._

It was all slipping away from him, and he didn't know how to stop it. Correction: He wasn't losing everything, just half of the whole; the half he'd been certain he could and would hold onto at all costs.

He'd been out of medical school for a year now, and although he had promised Joss that things would get better, he was finding that the opposite was true. He had intended to go into internal medicine, become a general practitioner and hang out his shingle in his hometown, limiting the hours he would be on-call. It would prevent the days-on-end absences from his family that he had experienced at the hands of his father growing up.

But like his father and grandfather before him, he found he had an aptitude—a gift, really—for surgery. "You have a God-given talent, Leonard," one of his professors had insisted. "It would be a crime against Humanity to waste your abilities treating something as mundane as the common cold."

It was very late, or very early, depending on your perspective. He was sitting on the back porch, sipping strong Kentucky bourbon; he'd long since graduated from moonshine. He was supposed to have been home hours ago. Today was Joss' birthday, and he'd arranged for a night out, just the two of them. He'd kept it secret until this morning, promising her an evening she'd never forget. He scoffed at the memory. Fate had intervened with a cruel and twisted version of his master plan. Shortly before he was due to leave the hospital for the day, an elderly man been brought into the emergency room suffering from severe head trauma. Other surgeons were on staff, but over the last year Leonard had been working on an experimental procedure to treat patients with traumatic brain injuries, hoping to give them the chance at life that had eluded his grandfather all those years ago. Of course he'd stayed. There had been no other option.

An owl hooted in the distance, bringing him back to the present. Draining his glass he slipped inside; climbed the stairs and tiptoed into his bedroom. Jocelyn was sleeping, curled into a tight ball on her side of the bed. A couple of years ago she would have been waiting up for him, armed with a passionate kiss and a flimsy negligée. He could understand why she wasn't tonight. There hadn't even been time to call her. She didn't even know why he hadn't made it home. He desperately wanted to wake her and explain everything, but they didn't communicate like they used to and he was starting to feel the disconnect. He settled down beside her, draping an arm across her hips. She wriggled out from under it, her back remaining to him. He turned away from her, a single tear trickling down his cheek. He had a new appreciation for the dilemma his father had faced.

_My fault._


	9. Things Fall Apart

A/N: Even though there were only supposed to be seven ficlets for this challenge, I really felt this piece needed an eighth. A way to tie up all the ends and set his feet on the path we know.

**Things Fall Apart**

**Winter 2258, Old Earth Calendar**

It was over. Jocelyn had moved off-world this morning, taking their eight-year-old daughter with her. Their divorce had been final three years ago, and due to his unpredictable schedule, his ex-wife had been granted sole custody. But he'd begged Joss not to leave town; not to keep Joanna from him. His only child was all he had left of his crumbling dreams of a happy and rewarding family life.

While she had initially agreed, Jocelyn had quickly moved on with her life. She and Nick had married in the spring of 2256. Her new husband showered her with attention, his job as an interstellar trader granting them access to the elite circles of Georgian society to which Jocelyn had so desperately wanted to belong. While Leonard's job would have provided them entrance to this most exclusive of clubs, the young physician had wanted no part of it. Rubbing elbows with the rich and powerful just didn't hold any special fascination for him. He used what little free time he did have doing research or trying to connect with his family. But in the long run, that personal one-on-one time was not what Jocelyn craved. She yearned to be part and parcel of the 'it' crowd, a constant fixture on the arm of a young, handsome and successful husband. When it became clear to her that she wouldn't reach that goal as the wife of an up-and-coming surgeon, their marriage had quickly soured.

Last month Nick had accepted a position on Cerberus. Naturally he planned to take his new family with him. For Leonard, the last thing tying him to this part of Georgia was now gone. And yet, he found it so hard not to blame himself. He and Jocelyn had loved each other once, and to his mind, he'd been the one to let that go. He'd taken it for granted that she'd always be with him, just as his own mother had always been with his father in spite of the demands placed on the elder McCoy by his career. But Jocelyn was not his mother; her needs were significantly different and he'd failed to take that into consideration. He hadn't spent nearly enough time nurturing and protecting that most sacred of relationships.

He glanced around the crowded spaceport, shifting his duffel to keep the strap from digging into his shoulder. "Shuttle for San Francisco now boarding at Gate Seven," the voice on the PA system announced indifferently. As soon as he learned his daughter would be leaving Earth he had applied to and been accepted at Starfleet Academy. He wasn't sure that space was the answer, but he knew he couldn't remain on this planet any longer. The memories were just too raw, too painful. There was nothing left for him here. He needed a fresh start. He set off resolutely for the shuttle, away from the unfulfilled potential of his past and toward an uncertain future.


End file.
